


Your life, for me.

by HexingQueen



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fluff, It is very sweet, Pre and post ts, There is some mention of injury but nothing graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 04:27:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29219463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HexingQueen/pseuds/HexingQueen
Summary: All the times he almost said it;And the time he finally did.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 12
Kudos: 23





	Your life, for me.

“Me and Marianne? Well, this should save both time and effort.”

The professor gives him a slightly quizzical look before leaving them to their assignment. 

“Time and… effort?” Marianne says quietly in response, “What does that mean?”

“It lets me be close to you, right?” He responds without thinking - she makes a strange sort of noise in response, so he backtracks. “Ah, I just realised how that sounds. Please, don’t take it the wrong way.”

Which way did he even mean it? He isn’t sure himself.

When their teacher had paired them together to clean out the stables, the usual resentment he would feel for the extra work had been replaced by a strange sort of excited feeling at the notion he would be able to spend the day with Marianne. Some part of it was due to the fact it would be a useful time frame to get in some well-needed research on her crest - perhaps to view the effects she had on animals, which he theorised would be mostly positive and hopefully his findings would be of some sort of comfort to her. But a large part of it was simply being able to spend time around  _ her.  _ It left him positively glowing. 

He enjoys being close to her, even if they aren’t doing anything. She has a calming air about her and never expects him to do much, something he greatly appreciates. Everything about her is quiet, and gentle and soft, which he has come to discover he finds enormously endearing. 

He watches her as she packs up her books to head to the stables, and his mind drifts a little. Even her appearance is soft - her hair falls in curls around her face and looks like it would be quite satisfying to touch (something he doesn’t dare ask, since he can’t really come up with a reasonable excuse.) Despite the dark circles under her eyes - which he barely notices, anyway - the brown hues of her irises are soft and welcoming. Her skin is also impressively smooth for the apparent lack of sleep she gets (and he has never once seen her drinking water), almost like  _ porcelain.  _ For a moment he wonders what it might be like to touch that, as well. He imag-

“Um… are we going?”

“Oh- yes, my apologies,” He snaps out of his previous train of thought, “after you, Marianne.”

She smiles at him, albeit slightly nervously, hitching the bag she’s carrying up her shoulder as she edges past the chairs left strewn by her classmates.

He falls into step with her as they head to the stables, and though they don’t speak, the silence is welcomed by both of them - it is not awkward by any means, and there’s a mutual shared gratefulness for it. 

It’s quite a pleasant day as they make their way from the classroom, the sun’s thin rays seeping their way into the monastery with that particular glimmer that Lady Rhea says is proof of the goddess’ blessings upon the place - around them, students fill the halls, while some opt to lie on the grass near the gazebos. He wonders if Marianne might like to do that, but… well, he would probably fall asleep, so maybe he shouldn’t ask.

Eventually, they reach their destination, and the feeling of being with  _ her  _ is finally somewhat overpowered by the simple fact that he really cannot be bothered for this. He absolutely detested it when the professor set him weekly tasks, and stable duty was, frankly, one he hated the most. It was unhygienic, dirty, and a lot of hard work he simply did not want to do. Ever. 

Being with Marianne is somewhat refreshing, at least, since - for some god awful, unknown reason - she actually seems to  _ enjoy it.  _ As much as he doesn’t understand, it makes his heart behave in a range of peculiar ways to see her actually smiling and talking to the horses. She’s so… sweet. It’s a little bit of an embarrassing conclusion to reach, but one he makes nonetheless, and it gives him the motivation boost he needs to actually do some - dare he say it - work. 

It takes a few hours - and quite a bit of complaining - but eventually they reach a state they are happy enough with to stop for the day, Marianne coaxing the horses back into their respective stables while he watches with quite a bit of affection he doesn’t really know how to process.

He scoffs slightly at his own bizarre thoughts, pushing them aside to step forwards and help her finish tidying up. He reaches forwards to pick up a brush from the floor at the same time as her, their fingers grazing slightly by accident-

She pulls away like she’s been burned.

His heart hammers in his chest, for some reason.

“You shouldn’t touch me…” She mumbles, and, despite all better judgement, he leans forwards and laces his fingers through hers, gentle enough not to hurt her, tight enough that she can’t let go.

“Linhardt, please-”

“Marianne,” He says, thumb tracing patterns on the back of her hand, “nothing bad is happening, see?”

“S-Still,” She protests, although she’s noticeably relaxed quite a bit, “You shouldn't... I don’t want you to be hurt.”

“I won’t be,” He reassures her, “especially not by you.”

She looks up at him with a strange mix of emotions on her face that he can’t quite put his finger on, the slightest hint of red to her cheeks, and he wonders how recently he started finding her this beautiful.

“Marianne, I-”

Her eyes search his, and he falters.

“Never mind.”

* * *

Hilda is the centre of attention, as usual.

Frankly, the noise of the ball is far too much for Linhardt, and he would like nothing more than to leave and go to bed. But he’d promised his friends he would come, and he supposes he may as well see it out.

Pink hair flies out around her as Lady Goneril spins in a circle with the Alliance leader, her laugh carrying through the hall to his ears, but all it makes him wonder is where Marianne is. The two were usually inseparable (to his dismay, sometimes), but - to no surprise - Marianne is not in the middle of the dance floor.

He sighs, pushing up from his position leaning against the wall, scanning the hall for a sign of blue hair - he sees Lysithea, Dorothea with Petra, Edelgard… no Marianne.

He wonders if she even came, until the unmistakable tones of Hilda’s voice call out “Marie, come join!!”

Then he sees her - shrinking into the corner of the room, Marianne’s answer is a definite  _ no.  _

Pushing his way through the students, he makes his way over to her, her presence immediately cheering him up a little. Although she’s just wearing her regular uniform like everyone else (he wondered why that was regulation - it seemed boring, even to him), her hair is pulled back out her face and a pair of turquoise gems hang from her ears, and there’s a slight gloss to her lips. All of which he assumes is Hilda’s doing.

“Oh! Linhardt,” She perks up slightly at the sight of him, “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I wish I wasn’t,” He replies, half joking, and she laughs in response as they fall back into one of their silences. 

He looks around the room at everyone and wonders if she perhaps might like to dance as well. It’s… mortifying, frankly, but he suddenly wants to. He has some idea of how to dance properly, having the noble family he did, and he assumed she had some vague knowledge as well.

For some reason, it takes him almost a full minute to find the words.

“Marianne, would you-” He hesitates slightly as she looks up, but presses onwards, “Would you, er - perhaps like to dance?”

Her eyes widen in response, a deep red hue colouring her cheeks, which, for some reason, provokes a similar reaction in him.

“With you?”

“Of course.”

She takes a moment to consider her answer, which makes him feel a little sick.

“I- I would, but…” She looks down at the floor, “there’s so many people here…”

“Well, I’m sure the music is still audible from outside, if you’d prefer,” He offers, actually somewhat glad of this outcome.

“I think I’d like that,” She nods, and he takes her hand - without her flinching away this time - pulling her gently to the back of the hall and out the doors (much to the overwhelming delight of Hilda.) 

He had been right - the music carries quite well out into the empty corridor outside, the chatter of the students dulling to white noise, and he turns to focus his attention onto her.

“Well,” He clears his throat, his blush reappearing despite his jokey tone, “may I have this dance, Marianne?”

“You may!” She says back, and his heart almost melts at how happy she seems tonight.

He brings the hand he’s holding up to his mouth and presses a kiss to her knuckles (as is  _ customary,  _ he tells himself, although he lingers there for perhaps longer than necessary), and she inhales audibly - he wonders if she is battling thoughts about her crest, but she is attempting to hide it, so he doesn’t bring it up for once.

Looping an arm around her waist, he gently guides hers around his neck and pulls her closer into him, taking her other hand in his. The music in the hall slows to a waltz and he wonders for a second if it had been anything to do with Hilda. He certainly wouldn’t put it past her, although he hopes she won’t come after him in future bombarding him with questions, because that would be quite bothersome.

He tightens his hold around Marianne, and they sway together like that for quite some time - her head is buried in his chest as he rests his chin on top, his hand eventually moving from her hand onto her head, stroking her hair as they stop dancing as such, and more just…  _ be.  _ Together.

After a while - seconds, minutes, hours, he isn’t sure - the music in the hall stops, and they know it won’t be long until students and teachers spill out of the hall and interrupt them. 

She pulls back slightly to look up at him, and he looks down at her with a fondness he has never felt before, even with her.

“I’m proud of you, Marianne,” He whispers, “thank you for being so close to me.”

“Thank you,” She says back in response, and for a second he has the sudden urge to touch his lips to hers. But… well, maybe that’s too much for her. 

“Marianne… I-”

“Yes?”

The moonlight that seeps through the windows bounces off her skin.

“...You’re beautiful.”

* * *

They are at war now.

He hates it.

Most of his time is spent holed up in his room or the library, piles and piles of books on his floor - perhaps a genuine interest, perhaps a distraction.

One thing he  _ is  _ genuinely interested in, and has been for quite some time, is  _ her  _ crest. More specifically, the effects of it and convincing her she was not a bad luck charm. In fact, in all his life, he has never done research for someone else more than himself, yet here he is.

Plus, the excuse to spend time with her is always welcome, so he folds the corner of his page and sets down his book before leaving his room.

He wanders somewhat absent-mindedly through the monastery, his thoughts a mess, as they often are these days. Everywhere around him is simultaneously a nostalgic reminder of earlier days, but also a grim reminder of his current reality - the full beds in the infirmary, the new graves in the cemetery. He lets his thoughts drift briefly to school days of brushing horses’ manes in the stable and wonders how it ever reached this point.

Thankfully, his thoughts don’t completely spiral as he sees Marianne sooner than he had expected. Radiant as ever.

“There you are, Marianne,” He says, catching up to her, “I’d like a moment to talk?”

“Oh! Linhardt!” She exclaims, a small smile painting her features, although she quickly looks somewhat bashful, “um, I was just on my way to pray…”

“Alright-” He shrugs, “afterwards.”

She excuses herself, and he does not offer to go with her because he knows she likes her privacy when it comes to praying - she is far more devout than him, but he doesn’t particularly mind it. She has her reasons.

He supposes he should follow her to the cathedral at some point, because he really does want to talk to her - the realisation of his feelings is something  _ significant  _ in regards to determining whether her crest brings ‘bad luck’ (something he has known not to be true since day one, but this - well, completely disproves it), although he has no idea how he is going to approach the topic. Simply comforting her on her crest seems good enough for now, although he is slightly nervous as he eventually makes his way up to the cathedral.

The wind is cold on his face as he crosses the bridge, a slightly pathetic, watery light from the moon dimly illuminating his path. The breeze whistles through the trees, and he feels quite alone suddenly, and scared of goddess-knows-what.

He steps into the ruined church as she is turning round to leave, which he is quite grateful for.

“So then, you’re done?” He asks, as they meet at some point in the middle. 

“Linhardt?” She raises an eyebrow, sounding almost amused, but more so embarrassed, “Were… you here this entire time?”

“No,” He shakes his head, smiling lazily at her. Even though the cathedral was in ruins, there were still hints of its former beauty, which she fits in with perfectly. Far more divine than the statues of the saints, he thinks, which might be blasphemy, but the goddess can strike him down for all he cares.

“What did you want to talk about?” She presses, bringing him back to reality.

“Oh! The results of my research,” He begins, pulling a folded up pile of paper from his satchel, with handwriting illegible to anybody but him. 

They sit together on one of the pews for a while as he explains to her what he has been doing - the results of his findings, his assured conclusion that her crest brings him nothing but happiness and certainly no misfortune at all. She listens quite intently, despite the fact people usually zoned out while he was talking - granted, it was about her, but it feels nice all the same. 

“As I said, it is my scholarly opinion your crest does not bring bad luck.” He finishes, squeezing her hand for extra measure.

“Thank you for your reassurance. It does make me feel a little better…” She smiles slightly, her hand tightening round his back in response.

“It’s probably just that you and the people around you have had bad days. It happens,” He shrugs, “I’m going to watch over you from now on, and if either of us has bad luck… Well, I’ll look into whether it’s just chance or if it’s your crest. In fact…”

He turns to face her slightly, moving his hand from hers to her face, thumb on her cheek, fingers through her hair.

“I’ll dedicate my life to it.”

“Your life?” She says, her voice barely above a whisper, “For me?”

“Especially for you, Marianne.” He sighs, hand trailing down her neck, her shoulder, her arm.

His voice is quieter than hers.

“Don’t make me spell it out.”

* * *

  
  


In somewhat of a flashback to younger days, the professor invites Marianne and Linhardt to eat with them.

It’s a nice change from meetings and training, so they both happily oblige, and it almost feels like they are back at school again and still too shy to look at each other in the professor’s presence. 

Instead, he leans over, “are you going to finish that, Marianne? May I have it?” Flashing her a grin, his voice is somewhat teasing, “for research.”

“Please don’t say such bizarre things in front of the professor,” She blushes, squirming slightly in her seat.

He laughs, and Byleth looks confused to say the least.

The rest of dinner continues uneventfully enough, with pleasant small talk and Linhardt making sure Marianne has drunk enough water before their teacher excuses themselves from the table.

“Thank you for joining me,” They nod, bidding the two of them farewell.

“Have you had enough?” He turns to Marianne, “I can get you more if you’d like.”

“No, thank you…” She gestures towards her unfinished first plate, “I- I don’t really eat much.” 

“Well, that’s good. I can’t be bothered to go and queue up again.”

She clears her throat slightly, “shall we leave, then?”

He agrees, and the two of them clear their plates together, him slipping his hand into hers as they walk out the dining hall. He touches her as much as possible if he can help it, partly to prove his point to her that her crest really brought him no harm at all, and partly because he takes great comfort in it. Both are good reasons, he thinks.

“D- do you really need my half eaten food for research?” She stammers out.

“Meh,” He shrugs, “technically - and not to be gross - it could be quite useful to have your saliva, but I doubt I’d get much of it. Besides-”

He pauses, looking down at her with a glint in his eye she has never really seen before.

“Well, there are other ways I can achieve that.”

She thinks she might pass out.

The orange hues of the sunset reflect off the fishing pond as they sit at the edge of the water together, alone besides the distant noise of the merchants. It was busy here, once, but it tended to be empty most days, now. 

He is more content and at peace than he’s been in months, and he begins to feel the familiar sleepiness overtake him as he rests his head on her shoulder. She stiffens slightly, but puts a hesitant arm around his shoulders after a second.

His eyes flutter shut and they stay like that until it’s dark, his breathing evening out and even she suddenly feels quite tired - goddess knows they both needed rest.

The stars twinkle in the sky above them, and a sudden noise from the direction of the market stalls jolts him awake - he smiles sleepily up at her, blue eyes meeting brown.

“Did I fall asleep again?” He asks.

“You know you did.” She says gently. 

“My lovely Marianne,” He mumbles, still half asleep, wiping his eyes. 

“I- I’m not lovely,” Comes her embarrassed reply.

He shifts out of her arms to look at her properly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“You’re an angel.”

Her face turns the familiar shade of red he is used to evoking, and in quite a moment of sudden confidence, he leans forward to brush his lips against her cheek.

“Marianne…” He trails off, a cat mewling in the distance.

“Linhardt?”

He sighs, standing up, extending a hand.

“...We should get to bed.”

* * *

He has been crying for five days.

Marianne looks wearily up at him from her bed in the infirmary, painful though it is to even wake.

“Linhardt, please.”

“I’m sorry,” He chokes out, brushing this bout of tears away, “This isn’t fair on you.”

“It wasn’t your fault...”

“It was.”

Linhardt had frequently had nightmares about this happening, but it had been so much worse than his brain had ever been able to conjure up. He can still smell the rain, the stench of her blood as it seeped from her clothes onto his, Hilda’s screaming as she saw what happened replaying when he tried to sleep.

He feels to blame. Perhaps it had not been directly his fault, but he hadn’t been there with her, which he feels a guilt beyond words for. He had promised his  _ life  _ to her and this was the best he could give?

Manuela’s excellent medical care has put him slightly at ease the past week, but seeing Marianne up to her neck in bandages hasn’t gotten any easier. It was all his magic could do to keep her in one piece as Hilda covered their return to the monastery - he had been grateful Marianne had passed out if only so it meant she didn’t have to feel the pain.

“Will…” Her voice snaps him out of it, embarrassment lacing her tones, “will you, um, will you lie down with me?”

He obliges immediately, taking care around her injuries as he puts his arm around her, pulling her head onto his chest.

She sighs contently underneath him, but the brief happiness he gets from being close like this is outweighed by the smell of medicine in the air, the brightness of the white walls and beds and screens, the quiet crying sounds in the corner of the room that he doesn’t want to know the reason for.

This is why he hates war.

Marianne… his poor, beautiful, frail Marianne. Marianne who spoke to horses like they were people, Marianne who’s nose twitched when she lied, Marianne who snorted when she laughed sometimes. He loves her so much. Every little part of her. 

She doesn’t deserve this. She’s suffered enough. How he wishes they could run from this… but they can’t.

His hands stroke her hair softly, long blue curls loose on the pillow and not intricately braided like they usually are. 

“Marianne, I l-”

He looks down at her, and she’s fast asleep.

He kisses the top of her head.

For once, he’s wide awake.

* * *

  
  


It’s a few months later when he finally tells her.

The sun glows through the leaves, clouds in the sky preventing it from blinding them. Goddess knows when the war will be over, but in moments like this it was easy to pretend.

They rest against an oak tree in the monastery grounds, her leaning into his hold as books and strawberries around them are forgotten about, her body healed save for one scar along her arm he has kissed a thousand times.

He looks down at her, the curl of her eyelashes, the slope of her nose, the cupid’s bow of her top lip, and thinks she is perhaps the most beautiful person to have ever been put on this planet. 

Feeling his gaze on her, she looks up at him, the brown of her eyes reminding him of chocolate, of warmth and a feeling like home. 

“Are you okay?” She questions softly.

He smiles at her, a feeling in his heart he hopes never leaves, his hand reaching up to caress her face in a way that is second nature to them both, now.

“I am so in love with you, Marianne,” He whispers, “I think I always have been.”

Her eyes fill with tears, her attempts at holding them back slightly pathetic as they spill over her eyelashes and down her cheeks, over his hand.

“I love you,” She says, “I really do…”

She closes her eyes as he leans forwards to kiss her, something they both feel they have been waiting for for quite some time, and he allows himself to hope that, despite the war and the blood and the nights of restless sleep-

Perhaps they will get the ending they deserve. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you sm for reading!! I absolutely adore these two and their canon interactions and it was a lot of fun to build on some of them.  
> Kudos and comments are extremely appreciated here in rarepair hell - I hope you enjoyed!


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